( i am a forest fire, and i am the fire and i am the forest, and i am a witness watching it, i stand in a valley watching it, and you are not there at all )

prologue !

A BOY CAN BE A HORRIFYING THING SOMETIMES, WHEN YOU PAY ATTENTION. A boy like Vincent Leblanc, on the other side of the same coin, is horrifying all the time. He's a ticking bomb, a raging fire, a killer's laugh. He's everything and nothing at the same time.

At this moment, and in every moment following this one, he felt more like nothing.

Nothing was an empty thing. Nothing was different when you'd been so alive before. Nothing was the creation of horrifying, ironically. Nothing was nothing, nothing more. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Vincent didn't know what had happened to him a few minutes beforehand. All he knew was that he was sprawled out alone across the pavement of an unfamiliar alleyway, his nose bleeding down the column of his neck. He had an urge to reach up and wipe it away, but his arm was achingly limp.

He stared up at the sky, where the blue illuminated portal had just spat him out. He only stared, or perhaps he glared. Vincent thought he didn't know anything about himself anymore. He felt different.

He had died, he knew that for sure. He had died and then Klaus had done something and then he held Five's hand and they time traveled here. He had no idea where here was.

The sky was pretty. Vincent wanted to touch it. He wondered if it would feel like dying or living. He wondered.

Vincent wondered where Five was.

That was enough to force him to sit up, choking out a pained groan. His whole body was like one huge bruise, achy and sore. That's what death does to you, you fucking idiot. Don't die next time.

Vincent stood on wobbly legs, glaring down at the tacky bowling shoes he was still wearing before lifting his head back up. He took a few stumbling steps forward, keeping one hand on the wall to steady himself.

Upon standing at the sidewalk, Vincent knew that Five Hargreeves had made a horrible mistake.

He froze, his eyes darting between women in sixties clothing, their hair tall and light. Some of them stopped to stare at him, some with disgust and some with concern. He didn't appreciate either. He knew how he looked, bloody and so fucking unbelievably exhausted. It wasn't any of Susan's business.

He turned to cross the street, wiping his weeping nose with the back of his hand. He ignored a woman asking him if he was okay, rushing towards another alleyway.

Turning into the alleyway proved to be a huge mistake. He came face to face with two teenagers making out furiously against the wall. His steps stuttered and he paused.

Upon slightly closer inspection, neither teenager was quite into what they were engaging in. They looked bored, in fact.

That was enough to make Vincent burst out laughing, albeit weakly.

It was also enough, evidently, for the male teenager to startle and elbow Vincent hard in the face.

And an elbow to the face was enough for Vincent's nose to spurt out more blood.

"Fuck!" Vincent cursed, muffled by his own hand going to cover his nose as he slumped down on the ground. "Nice going, man."

"Oh shit." The boy said, looking down at Vincent with wide eyes.

The female teenager knelt down in front of Vincent, reaching out with gentle hands to remove Vincent's hand from his face, leaning close to check his nose. She hissed a breath through her teeth. "You look terrible." She told Vincent.

"Thanks," Vincent laughed blankly, jumping when the girl moved her hand to the back of Vincent's head, pushing it down between his knees.

"Don't look up. The blood'll go to your brain or somethin'," The girl said softly. At the male teenager's scoff, the girl glared. "That's what my momma says. I listen to her more than I listen to you, Finch."

The boy, Finch apparently, sighed and took a step closer. "Sorry. You're right," He murmured, kneeling down beside the girl. They looked at Vincent as if he were a zoo animal. He would have laughed if he had any strength to do so. "Sorry I hit you." He told Vincent gruffly.

"Sure," Vincent replied. "It's fine," He continued. He reached one hand up to wipe the blood from his sore nose. "So. You ever seen a ghost?" He asked the two awkwardly. His French accent, one that had dimmed significantly from his time with Five and his siblings, was thicker than usual.

The two stared at him for a long time.

"Once. When I was little," The girl started, her hand still placed firmly on the back of Vincent's head. "It was my uncle, I think. My momma called me crazy when I told her. But it was real, I swear."

Finch rolled his eyes from beside her. "That's bullshit," He said. "My father's seen a real ghost. And my father never jokes about that stuff," He pointed out, more to the girl than Vincent. "He's seen his mom a few times. It scares him real bad." He added sheepishly.

"Your dad is a real bitch, Jesse," The girl retorted, finally gently lifting Vincent's head back up, both of her hands a soft thing cradling his jaw. Vincent felt dead. Technically, he was. "Hey. You doing okay there?"

"Superb," Vincent whispered softly. "You have a fucking Xanax or something?"

Jesse Finch and the girl who Vincent still did not know the name of gave each other a confused glance. "What's that?" Jesse asked after a moment.

"Oh," Vincent murmured, slumping further against the wall, which made the girl's eyes widen and hands tighten just barely on Vincent's face. "What year is it?" He asked faintly.

The girl looked more than concerned. "1963," She responded. Vincent's head lolled back and she kept it up almost frantically. "Where'd you come from? I haven't seen you around before," She murmured. She had a Southern twinge to her voice. Vincent had only just noticed. "Are you more hurt than this?" She added.

"Only a little," Vincent answered. "Doesn't matter."

The girl sighed heavily. "Okay," She mumbled before turning to look at Jesse. "Hey Finch, we're bringin' him to your house."

Jesse stood up, shaking his head rapidly. "Hell no. We don't even know this guy!" He exclaimed. "And he looks like shit, no offense," Vincent muttered a small 'none taken' under his breath, and Jesse continued. "God, Billie, my father will kill me." He concluded.

The girl, Billie, huffed. "Your dad'll never know anything about this, okay?" She responded. "He's never home anyway. He'd never notice." She turned back to look at Vincent.

Jesse looked pained at that fact, but didn't argue, staring down at his pristinely white shoes. Vincent watched him dig the heel of his shoe into the ground.

"You don't have to take me to anyone's house. I'm good," Vincent mumbled, trying to pull away from Billie's hands and stand. He could not.

"Don't look good to me," Billie sighed. "Come on. We can give you some of Jesse's clothes."

Jesse huffed. "Can't believe you like this random homeless kid more than me, Bill."

Billie ignored Jesse entirely, removing her hands from Vincent's face in favor of grabbing his arms, pulling him up with a shocking amount of strength. Vincent's eyes widened a little. He wouldn't lie and say his face didn't get even slightly red.

He missed Five.

Billie wrapped one of Vincent's arms around her shoulders, her arm wrapping around his waist. He was taller than her, but she didn't seem to care.

She turned away from the town and went further into the alley. "Shortcut." She explained simply. Vincent was only slightly concerned he'd be murdered.

Jesse followed behind the two silently, his hands shoved into the pockets of his letterman jacket. Vincent couldn't tell what the boy was feeling. He didn't seem upset, but he wasn't happy either. Suspicious, maybe.

The walk to Jesse Finch's house was not much, but maybe it was because Vincent was staring at the ground the entire time.

When he looked up, he froze slightly in place.

"Your house is fucking huge," Vincent couldn't help but say, watching as Jesse's face turned red and he bit the inside of his cheek, teetering back and forth in place. "What exactly do your parents do?" He chuckled out faintly.

The house wasn't all that large, compared to the Umbrella Academy. But it was much nicer than Vincent would have ever expected.

Jesse swallowed hard. "Doesn't really matter," He said softly. "The house isn't that big. Come on." He opened the front door, gesturing for Billie to drag Vincent inside. "Please don't bleed on anything," Jesse added as he followed them, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Vincent raised his eyebrow at the interior, but didn't comment.

"Finch, get the kid some clothes," Billie said, to which Jesse rolled his eyes, but nodded. Vincent watched Jesse disappear upstairs. He turned back to Billie. Billie smiled at him gently, pushing him to sit on the couch. She stood in front of him. "I'm Billie Tate." She finally introduced herself.

Vincent had to look up at her from where he was sitting. She was pretty. Had he not been the gayest son of a bitch to ever exist, he would have been in love. "Vincent Leblanc." He said.

"Vincent," Billie smiled. "Cool. You can shower in Jesse's bathroom."

Vincent nodded slowly, weakly. "Shouldn't Jesse be the one telling me what to do in his house?" He asked, unable to help it.

Billie shrugged, tugging at a loose thread on her red skirt. "Jesse is so scared of disobeying his dad that he would never let you do anything in here," She explained vaguely. "I have to help him rebel."

Vincent nodded like he understood. He supposed he did, a little bit.

Jesse walked downstairs a second later, holding a stack of clothes that he tossed to Vincent. "You can keep those." He said, sitting down across the room from Billie. "There's a shower over there." He added, pointing to a bathroom a few steps away.

Vincent nodded slowly. He stood up on wobbly knees, shaking his head at Billie's silent offer to help.

He stumbled to the bathroom, closing and locking the door hard behind him.

This was weird. This was so weird.

Vincent stood in front of the mirror, his hands holding onto the sides of the sink tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. He looked horrible, so horrible.

His eye bags were worse than they'd been before, and his nose was bruised a dark purple, blood dried underneath it. He hated how he looked. He hated how he felt.

He reached one hand up to wipe at his nose, taking in one rattling breath.

It always ended with Vincent alone. Always started that way, too.

He hated it. He hated that he was becoming consumed with hatred so early on.

He hated that when he looked long enough at himself in the mirror, he saw his eyes go white.

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A/N; new characters! how do u feel about them? if u hate them idk what to tell u honestly bc they gonna be here a while.

also keep in mind: five won't be in the first couple of chapters. they're gonna be all about vincent development because I love my boy. i try to keep things interesting for everyone who reads this and avoid just regurgitating the umbrella academy plot immediately lmfao.

once Five and Vincent reunite you'll get that sweet sweet tension back I promise And u won't really have to wait for the slow burn to pass this time 😏